The Lightening Strike
by Anesther
Summary: Jasper-centric story: He had thought leaving the army would end the violence in his life; he never thought that leaving human's cruelty would destroy his soul. UPDATED MARCH 25, 2010
1. One

**AN: I always thought of doing a Jasper story, but never had an idea. Well, more like I didn't have the guts; I didn't want to fail in capturing his gloriousness. XD All right then, so… This is the result. Yeah. It's multi-chaptered (Oh no!). All I'm sure of is the title may change, and perhaps the rating—not because of future "hot" scenes with Alice but because I want to make it gruesome (It can't be all sunshine and flowers; this is **_**Jasper**_**-centric. LOL). I hope it's enjoyable! :D**

* * *

_The Lightening Strike_

One

Quietly, the young man signaled his battalion to forward their advance, rifles at the ready as they moved through the shadows. Jasper's eyes slowly adjusted themselves to the darkness, silhouettes of men etched out from the faint silver light. Today was the 12th of April, and he was not entirely certain he was ready to fight the Union, was not entirely prepared for being the first to initiate the attack; Fort Sumter was heavily blockaded and he knew the Union will respond just as swiftly and deadly.

Still, he had a duty to his fellow Confederates, to the General Robert E. Lee. And he will follow through.

The sun mounted the hilltops, beams of yellow light hitting him in the face. Jasper blinked once, twice, then pushed out from the bushes and he, along with his men, rushed to Fort Sumter. A gunshot from the right was fired by one of the more experienced soldiers and Jasper followed suit. He hit one, two, three, four men—their tactics were proving beneficial, the Union fighters were unprepared for the assault. They fell lifeless, but he jumped over their bodies, trying to act nonchalantly. Still, in his gut, there seemed to be a ball of ice, making him feel sick. He had never killed anyone before… But he would have to ignore it until this was over. Jasper swept on, ducking behind a tree to avoid fire, and then shot his own in retaliation.

"We need to get the ones at the higher watch points, they can find us quicker," Jasper told another soldier, who nodded understandably, and quickly tried his aim at one foe in the watchtower. He went down, his cry echoing soundly. They both emerged from their hiding place, other Confederate soldiers running forward, some falling from the rain of gunshots. He glanced at one, a bullet wound in the leg bled profusely, but he was silenced when another went through his skull, silencing him at once, flesh dangling from the side. Jasper felt the nauseas, aware that some exploded on contact, containing glass, broken led, and shrapnel inside, doing more damage.

He dodged wobbly, his heart racing. He was trained for slaughtering his other country men, yet he felt as if he reverted back to training sessions, the blood rushing to his face, hot and cold, congealing from the loud, reverberating noises of gunfire, the smell of gunpowder and smoke, with the new scent of rank, foul bodies littering the ground. Jasper put his head between his knees, breathing shallow quick gasps, trying to steady the pumping of his nervous heart.

Jasper barely had time to register the gun upon him. He blocked it, the tip of the point close to his face. Pushing the other man back with all his might, he avoided the menacing steel tip, and hit the man's head with the butt of his own bayonet, a cracking sound accompanying it. The head was mashed in, and he paled, sweat on his brows and bile in his throat as he tried to recover. Now, however, there was an adrenaline flowing within him, making him alacritous, more alert and agile, and able to concentrate on killing the enemy but to also keep himself alive.

_This is what I prepared myself for_, he reminded himself, watching his own sword bayonet go through another American; yet there was an unfamiliar bitterness towards this man, for he was in Union uniform—and, though born in the same country, he felt as if he was foreign, so Jasper pushed the knife further, blood pouring from the mouth of the half-dead soldier. Jasper watched the body slump, his cerulean eyes narrowing grimly.

This was war.

Jasper now glanced towards the setting sun, turning the sky aflame, and red, orange and gold mingling together. He wished he could just sit and behold it, for his favorite part was when, at times, the top of the sun scathed the landscape's edge, and the sky actually held the colours of the rainbow, red closest to the sun, with violet and indigo becoming the sky, and the rest of the colours were in-between. He often relaxed gazing at it as a child…

Still, he could not, for he was fighting for his life. There was endless killing today, neither side predisposed to submission. This was the most difficult fort the Confederate States Army was attempting to conquer; the other three had been sieved, at the expense of young soldiers, along with some slaves, but it was a victory.

Jasper gripped his bayonet tighter and ran out again. A Union soldier rammed into him from a hiding place, his finger at the trigger. His mind reeling, Jasper grabbed a handful of dirt and threw it at the man's face, then gripped the musket promptly when the man shouted from the sudden blindness. Kicking the opponent's legs, Jasper reached for the knife in his boot, and slit the man's jugular, scarlet drops spurting onto his face. A few landed in his mouth; he spit in disgust.

Hearing a resounding shot, he felt a searing pain his side. Jasper whirled, ignoring the sting, and he shot at some of the Union soldiers. His hand on the wound, he escaped behind a tree, gasping and groaning as the side continued to bleed. There was no way to receive medical treatment yet, so all he was able to do…

Holding his breath, Jasper gingerly reached in, his fingers groping for the bullet. He hoped it was a normal one… Sweat dripped alongside his face, making the flaxen hair stick further with the dirt matted into it; panting he searched slowly. The numbness was excruciating, like he couldn't feel it but it presented itself by causing agony. He found it and tentatively removed the bullet. With each shallow gasp, Jasper felt his eyelids beginning to droop. Dragging himself to a safer distance, the young man leaned against a boulder.

"Over here!" he heard a shout.

"He's bleeding too much—we have to get him to the surgeon."

"There's no time," a new voice urgently spoke. "It will take too long. If we don't move now, we'll be dead along with him…"

Jasper's ears were pounding, and their voices suddenly became blurred, the forest too difficult to descry. His mind drifted, and his eyes saw only blackness. He heard the faint, familiar beat of his heart, before that too was quiet.

()

There was warmth enveloping his body, a tender softness skimming his temple. He smiles knowingly, and he peeks through one eye, seeing similar azure oculars, though they were shades lighter compared to his deep cobalt.

"Ready to get up?"

He shakes his head, though he knows he should do his share of the housework.

But his mother smiles and complies, brushing back the bangs. "You need them cut."

"I like it this way, mother."

She laughs daintily, ruffling his hair to make a point. The boy grins; his mother is so beautiful when she laughs. She's already pretty, he thinks admiringly, but seeing her happy is good. She has not been for a while; ever since problems in there finances started increasing. His father works hard to keep them well fed and healthy, however not everything was going accordingly.

He frowns a little. "Mother, I'll get up and help."

"No, no, young man," she replies in a firm yet gentle tone. "You are not getting out of bed until that fever passes. The farm can wait."

What fever?

He was not aware, at first, of the heat in his body, but he felt nothing except chills coursing through him.

The next thing he saw was sunlight; the next thing he felt was a twinge in his side.

Opening his eyes, Jasper realizes he's not home, just in a tent for wounded soldiers. There was a compelling loneliness in him just then. Home... He had not seen it in so long. He wonders if it still looks the same, if his mother is thinking of him. Why would she? He had not thought of her since he joined the Army… It would be better if she spared herself the heartache of losing her only child to war. She always despised it.

"You're awake."

Jasper turns his head slowly, making eye contact with the surgeon; Doctor Winchester was there through all the training sessions, because accidents did occasionally happen and the majors did not want to risk anything. He is a good-natured individual, as well as twenty-seven years his senior. This gave the man much experience in the field. Jasper could not think of any other man more adept for the occupation.

"You're quite fortunate that you were brought here. That wound of yours was not deep, but you would have bled to death out there."

He nodded, too exhausted for talk. He was glad that he was too unconscious through the procedure to recall it; he has seen and heard it, and it was not a pleasant experience even then.

"Well, you get some rest; we'll check on your wound again soon."

Jasper smiled at him gratefully, which Doctor Winchester returned, before he left the tent.

Shutting his eyes, Jasper waited for sleep to claim him. It was coming upon him quicker than usual. Faintly, two soldiers were conversing about Fort Sumter. The Union was still holding strong. Jasper sighed quietly and fell asleep, his thoughts bare from dreams.

He awoke to a shout.

The moon had now risen and he wondered who could be sending a message now.

"They have prevented us from taking siege of their fort," a man explained.

So the battle was lost?

Mutely, the young man sat up, then regretted the action when a sharp tear bolted through him. He cautiously lay back down. He did not expect the wound to be so hindering—it had not even pierced any vital organs but it feels it may as well have.

Jasper kept his mouth shut, listening to the men outside talk of new battle plans, other strategies.

"Mr. Whitlock, are you up?"

Recognizing Doctor Winchester's voice, he said, "Yes."

"It is good news to see that you are faring better. Now, just lie still and I'll check on your bandages and clean them."

"Thank you," Jasper murmurs, trying to remain still like stone.

Doctor Winchester carefully ministered the wound—he had sewn it to keep the blood from seeping further, but pus lined the creases, and could cause an infection in the already angry scar. Cleaning it, he said, "How old are you Mr. Whitlock?"

"Eighteen."

He seemed surprised. "You appear a bit older than you are. War has a way of doing that to men."

"Yesterday was my first time in actual combat, sir."

"Is that right?" Doctor Winchester inquires quirking a brow. "Maybe it's just how you look then. The men who brought you here were praising you as they began to leave."

Jasper tilted his head slightly to the left, perplexed.

"Indeed. They said you fought quite remarkably for one so new to battle."

He smiles, the compliment making him feel a little better. "It's just the training." He replies modestly.

"Nonsense, they said you have a talent for fighting."

"I suppose that is true…"

"Did you always want to be a soldier?"

Jasper nods, a sheepish grin spreading on his lips. "I always thought it was a noble honour to fight for one's country. Most of my friends also wanted to be soldiers."

"Even for one that does not make sense."

Jasper's head snaps at Doctor Winchester. "What do you mean?"

The doctor merely shrugs and pats the man on the shoulder. "Nothing; you should rest now, so the healing process will go by quicker. Otherwise, you're going to be in that cot a lot longer you would probably wish to be."

"Yes. Thank you, once more."

"You're quite welcome. It's why I chose this profession, to help save people. Some one will come by to give you supper."

Jasper gives him another kind smile, and then lies back down. But this time, his mind is too full to empty, and his famished stomach did not help him much either. Even if the food came, he was uncertain if he will actually eat. Yesterday he had went into battle for the first time and almost lost his life. That was what being a soldier was—risking your existence for the sake of the country, for the sake of people who would never know who you are—just remember that your corpse was among thousands of other bodies they did not pay attention to unless they _were_ loved ones.

There _was_ honour for serving your country, however—you just had to look deeper than the norm to find it.

But, for the first time since joining the army, since desiring to be a soldier in his youth, he pondered if this was really the life he sought.


	2. Two

**AN: Alright, so this took forever… I know I'm downright awful… Also, let's forget about what actually occurred in ****Eclipse**** a little, ne? I had already most of this written out, but only **_**then **_**did I decide to go back into the book and see what actually went on; nothing was matching, and I feel as though I **_**should **_**retype this all—I changed some to feel better about it—but then hours of writing will go down the tube. So sorry Mrs. Meyer, but, hey, this **_**is **_**FanFiction! Speaking of which…**

**Disclaimer: Don't own.**

Two

Jasper glanced down at the medal, the shine of reflecting light blinding him when he tilted it to the left.

He had been fighting for a year, possibly less, but he had quickly become highly respected and valued amongst the soldiers and generals. He never would have thought it possible that he would become a major—not in all his life—but he accepted the honor with pride.

As he walked along the cadavers, withal, he still felt that wave of sickness, of hurling everything in his stomach though it was still empty. He had not felt like eating. He pushed through, stepping over one fallen soldier.

A young man, close to his age Jasper believes, was shuddering from fear. Today had been his first day in battle and Jasper could sympathize very well. He knelt beside him, placing a hand on a quivering shoulder. The man's head snapped up, apprehension etching his face before it went back to anguish. Able to determine his face, the name 'Aaron' registered into his mind. That was his name.

Jasper continued to sit next to him. "Do you want to see the physician?"

The other lad shook his head solemnly, taking a deep shaky breath. Aaron wrapped his arms closer around him. He looked the way Jasper felt and Jasper gave the shoulder he gripped a light, comforting squeeze.

Aaron glanced up at him, eyes dark. "Does it get easier? Killing people?"

Jasper's mouth frowned into a grim line. "No. It never does."

"I wish it did."

Jasper glanced at him, disturbed but empathetic. "Why?"

"Because I don't like feeling like this…"

Jasper gave the man a look of understanding. "Yet, if that happened, we would be something other than human."

Aaron looked up, surprised; yet he found the strength to smile. "You're right."

And, what seemed like moments ago, he, Aaron, and the rest of their battalion were ambushed by the Union's surprise attack. He remembered the adrenaline beginning to pound, pulling out a knife from his belt when one soldier came too close. When he saw Aaron go down, Jasper forgot himself and had started to rush to the other boy's aid; then a swift blow to the back of his head caused his vision to fade to black, faint shouts in his ears; so he did not hear, or feel, the sudden bullet that burrowed itself into his side.

He had woken up, freezing yet dripping with sweat.

Doctor Winchester had come to patch him up. Jasper sighed slowly, grateful for the good doctor's talent. When he had come in to change the dressings of the wound, Jasper had questioned about Aaron. The doctor had met his gaze and, instantly, Jasper knew that the boy was gone. A solemn feeling began to gnaw into his self again.

However, there was _always_ the feeling ebbing into his soul. What Aaron said bothered him greatly as he lay there in the patients' tent. He, too, would wish he could just forget the faces of the people he killed. The pride which would swell in his chest was becoming just a dull thud.

Suddenly, he had found the strength to move, don some heavy normal wear, take food rations, and limp his way into the greeting stillness and black of the woods.

Jasper decided he did not want to deal with taking lives anymore.

How did he come to be in this situation?

Major Jasper Whitlock—well-respected and revered; practically a military prodigy before the battle of Galveston—was wandering around on a dirt path, dazed and weakened by malnourishment and injuries; he had patched them up, again, but only with amateur methods.

At any other time in the past, he would have laughed at how pathetic the situation would sound.

Coughing roughly, Jasper continued to walk; he was exhausted from fatigue and the food he had taken had long ago been consumed.

In his blurry vision, he looks up. Surprise registers into his mildly numb mind; women! Here? There were no houses around for miles. Even so, he had to see if they could help him.

When he got closer, he was marveled by the paleness of their skin, their eyes fine yet murky with something indescribably malicious. They were, nevertheless, incredibly beautiful. Looks, though, he knew were deceiving and approached with newfound caution.

The tallest one smiled at him pleasantly, and he wondered how anyone could be so lovely yet sadistic simultaneously. He continued to study her fair hair and snow white skin.

"He's speechless." His ears were acute now; the voice was like wind chimes.

Another girl, who was blonder still and just as pale, flitted towards him; she curved her frame against his, and he couldn't believe the heavenly scent she exuded. He barely caught her words, watching a small pale hand rest on his hip. "Mmm," she sighed. "Lovely."

A slender figure emerged from between the others, dark hair framing a winsomely face; she was clearly of Mexican despite the colour of her skin. She gripped the arm of the woman on him, her voice soft and musical.

"Concentrate, Nettie."

The girl's mouth became a pout and withdrew.

Cupping the side of his face, the brunette drew closer till he was drowning in the aroma wafting from her. He vaguely remarked how cold to the touch she was.

"He looks right—young, strong, an officer…" she pauses briefly. "And there's something more... do you sense it?" She asks the two, eyeing them. "He's…compelling."

"Oh, yes," Nettie promptly concurred, leaning towards him again, greed in her eyes.

"Patience, I want to keep this one." The brunette replied in a clipped tone; no room for argument.

Again, Nettie was vexed.

"You better do it, Maria," The blonde spoke then, inspecting her perfect fingernails. "If he's important to you; I kill them twice as often as I keep them."

Kill. Such a familiar word, but it was foreign coming from the woman's tongue. Fear trickled into him, but he fought it down. Women were not dangerous; _they_ were the ones who needed protection. That's what he was brought up to believe. His mother was proof of that.

"Let's hunt!" Nettie shouted enthusiastically, taking hold of the other one's hand. Jasper felt awe inside seeing them run; they appeared to take flight, their white dresses spreading like wings.

Was he finally dead?

"What is your name, soldier?"

_Run… _

The lilting voice brought him back. He couldn't think, couldn't feel, and stammered, "Major Jasper Whitlock, ma'am."

_Run._

"I truly hope you survive, Jasper," she murmured gently, stepping closer; she smiled, inclining her head at a kissing angle. "I have a good feeling about you."

_Run!_

A piercing sting ran through his neck; he was on fire and screaming and screaming.

In this instant, he knew he was still very much alive.

()

He awoke to a gentle pressure on his mouth.

Slowly, confused, he opens his eyes, and a face is looking down at him with a miniscule smile. She was even more beautiful then when he passed out. Maria leans down again, her lips a hairsbreadth from his.

"Welcome to your new life."

What was she talking about…?

"I knew you would make it," she continued, putting a hand on his face. It was not cold anymore. "You're a strong one."

Jasper did feel different—more capable and sure than he ever felt; his eyes were seeing the world in a whole new clarity—the night had never looked more beautiful or more frightening than tonight and his other senses were sharper than ever: he smelled every mineral in the air, heard every sound mingling together as a symphony; inside, though, everything was tumultuous. He did not understand what she was rambling about. And there was a strange hunger burning…

"He made it?"

He turns to see two blonde women sauntering over to him. Waves crashed into him—hazardous and raging, yet licentious and arousing. The daintier one—Nettie, he remembered from a corner of his mind—kneeled before him, scanning his form; astounded by her bold perusal, Jasper fought to reign in the sudden storm.

"He's even handsomer now than before," she breaths, caressing his chest with a slim digit. "A shame I'll never be able to know how his blood tasted like—he smelled delicious."

The brunette smacks Nettie's hand, glaring hotly. "Do we really need you flirting with this one as well?"

Nettie only smirked and winked at him; Jasper found it odd that he wasn't even blushing lightly, withal, still discomfited.

"Get up." Maria spoke, gaining his attention; she even snapped her fingers.

Something cracked within, and he growled, "I'm not a trained animal." She turned, her eyes wide; Jasper, too, felt mortified by his behaviour towards a _woman_, but what really perturbed him was the feral animalistic sound he had created from deep in his throat.

Nettie laughed. "He's a feisty one! I like him more and more."

Maria was seriously displeased; he would have to learn the hard way. Still, she was impressed with his temerity; she went on her knees and held his chin with her fingers. In one swift movement, she slapped him.

Nettie quieted; Jasper was incredulous.

"It's rude to speak to a lady crassly," she turned to the other girl. "Lucy, could you go see if there is prey anywhere?"

Lucy nodded and took off.

"Get up," repeated Maria, watching where Lucy had taken off.

Jasper did as he was told without question. He could feel the coquettish eyes of Nettie upon him, and, again, there was intense lust emanating from her, and, somehow, causing him to feel it in turn. These feelings felt like intense electrical waves with all the force of nature's oceans crashing onto him. Unknowingly, from the 'gift' he now possessed, he caused Nettie's lewdness to heighten and it only hit him harder.

What was wrong with him?

He studies his hands; they were white as chalk, as pale as the strange women.

Maria glances at him now. "Have you guessed yet what has occurred to you?"

He shakes his head, unsure of his wits and the world. "What… has happened to me?"

She turns, and in the blink of an eye, was close to his face. "You are what I am now. You are a vampire."

_Vampire… _

"It can't be…" he murmurs. "You're lying to me! There is no possible way on this earth that vampires exist! You've done something else to me!"

"I assure you Jasper. I am not lying."

The blonde woman reached for his hand, pulling him towards her. "Run with me, I'll show you."

He snatches his hand back, agitated and restless. "No! Tell me what has happened with me!"

"If you run with me, it'll prove everything my sister has said." She glances at Maria, and at the brunette's nod, Nettie reaches out a hand again.

Not taking the proffered hand, Jasper does, albeit, come to her. She takes off in a light jog, but to him, she appeared to be dancing in the brush. He does the same and bewilderment courses through him as he finds it so easy to keep up with her. She picks up the speed, and he follows suit, the forest now a blur of colour. It wasn't just black as it ought to have been: there were clinquant bursts of silver, blue, and green dazzling his vision, and he could see perfectly each dappled object in sight. The sound of every living creature in the wood hit him, now a torrent of different pitches of tone and chords…

Dread catches him, and as the epiphany lays its cold hands on his mind, Jasper abruptly halts, hoping, pleading, that he could find the heartbeat he didn't feel, that he had _forgotten_ he had.

The silence in his torso spoke volumes louder than the world.

The vampire finally found his voice and he screamed in horror.

But even the caterwaul was indistinct to his ears—it should have been ugly like all cries, like all _human_, but it breached his mind, telling him that it, like _he_, was inhuman because it sounded too beautiful for a lament of his soul.

"She told you." came the solemn soprano trill of Nettie.

Jasper whirled on her, and the fear he ejected stung her core; consumed by rage, he snarled and pounced on her, gripping her neck tightly with his own hand.

She wasn't choking! Why wasn't she choking?!

He tightened the hold. Still, she was not spluttering; but the terror in her dark eyes was enough. Instinctually, he found himself making the distress circulate in her, and he ravished the inner turmoil. This was her fault. _This_ was their entire fault!

A hand gripped his wrist, and he looked down at Lucy, her mouth a set line.

He was suddenly disgusted with his actions, and relented his hold upon Nettie. What's wrong with him? If he delighted in causing pain, what was he? He wasn't human…

"Come back with me." Lucy uttered softly, tugging him by the sleeve.

Lost in his thoughts, he followed at a slower pace.

He finally reached the designated point, and he found Maria's frigid onyx oculars on him; she moved aside with all the grandeur of a hostess, waving elegantly to a young woman. She was frightened, her breath hitching at seeing his intimidating figure emerging from the gloom.

"Feed." commanded Maria.

The girl's fear peaked tenfold and she scooted a little back. Maria shoved her roughly back in his direction, and the girl gasped in pain. The column of her throat was now exposed; she swallowed and he heard the fresh pumping of her heart, the pulse beneath her jaw beckoning him like a siren's call. He had never felt such a hunger, such a thirst!

But the fear kept crashing on him, and he, too, took a step backwards.

"You are thirsty. Feed." Maria told him again, her voice betraying the simmering of her impatience.

"You…" whispered Jasper, his gaze shifting back and forth to her and the girl, "You can not be serious…"

"Oh, but I am. Lucy went to all the trouble of finding you a delectable morsel for your first time and you are acting very ungrateful about it Jasper."

"_Ungrateful!_" he cried, his anger surmounting. "This is a _life!_"

Lucy rolled her eyes. "Oh, they all die at some point—what's the harm in ending it early?"

Jasper growled at her, and Lucy inadvertently stepped back as well. Nettie gripped Lucy's hand, exchanging glances with Maria also. Maria was becoming more and more testy by the minute; curling a fist into the woman's hair, she dragged her over to where Jasper stood and threw her at his feet.

Hitting the ground, it stirred the scent of warm blood into the air, and he drunk it in. Jasper felt overcome in this instant by a beast, and everything moved so quickly; he didn't have time to register his actions before the animal made him dive for the prey.

The scream that came from his prey's throat was deafening, but he heard none of it—he was too absorbed in the texture and taste of the liquid. It was so warm, so sweet and tangy at the same time; he saw nothing but red, a euphoria rose as the beast triumphed in receiving its desire. Jasper suckled the neck miserly, feeling it course down his throat.

There was a thumping, faint and languid; he could not focus on whether it was the girl's or possibly his. As he drank more his fill, he had felt the heat of it trickle into his chest… It must have been his imagination, or a subconscious wanton to hear his own heart again. There was an urge to pretend that there hearts were beating together in a serene rhythm.

How he wanted to hear his heart…

There was a tug on his shirt, and, unwittingly, he pulled back. His eyes widened as he realized it was the woman, scarlet ribbons dribbling on the sides of lips down her cheek. So much horror in those youthful eyes…

They were dulling now, the light of life receding with each second. Soon they were nothing more than light brown pebbles, false replicas of what they once were.

He was still. A little breeze tousled his hair, the only indication that he was not stone.

He never had such raw guilt gnawing him before, and the brunt of it gave him a heavy blow; he was so much worse than any murderer or rapist; he ravaged a life, a _soul_, ate at it greedily. To himself, he was worse than any _cannibal_.

He was just a bloodthirsty monster, inhuman and deadly.

Jasper Whitlock was no more.

()

The vampire was killing now, not for himself, but for Maria and the others. Maria wanted an army of newborns vampires. It has now been a little over half a year since he became what he is, and he was excellent at performing duties. Maria loved that about him—his diligent obedience and silent acquiescence. His tasks were clean and precise, as such was the way of a soldier.

She always went with him to help with the selection of their members, looking for assets that she thought would be of worth. Once she picked her choices, she sent him out to do the dirty work. Lucy and Nettie aided of course, but they would become enraptured of the combination of lethality and stealth in his movements; he was a graceful and gorgeous specimen for their kind. Maria, assured that he would not do anything to jeopardize their mission, had stopped coming with them altogether.

"Good," Maria would praise when he'd done marvelously. "You may have your choice."

And the vampire would drink his reward, lapping the corpse till it was drier than a desert.

The ones who made it were taught skills he had learned in his past life, and he took lessons seriously, pushing them hard. Unfortunately, there would be disadvantages to their recruits that Maria found simply unacceptable. There had been a brutal brawl before that had gotten out of hand: two male newborns had both gone after the same prey. It was a fight of yowling and screeching, each trying to tear the other to bits for the same meal.

One had proved to be the better combatant, ripping out the vocal chords of the other and biting through his marbled flesh. Jasper had sensed the frustration and territorial instincts within both, but he had been too far away by vampire standards to have broken it up before there was any serious damage. When he had gotten there, he halted to see a limb inching across the grass. The decapitated head was mouthing unintelligible words, and the older vampire had the uncomfortable sense of nausea crawl inside him for the first time in a very long while.

Maria had arrived on the scene shortly after him and regarded the scene nonchalantly.

"Collect and burn the pieces, Jasper."

"What of the survivor?"

Maria paused, contemplating. Eventually, she said, "Get rid of him too."

He blinked. "Why?"

She sighed and looked at him over her shoulder, bored. "The newborn may be strong, but this is the third time he has gotten into a fight; there is no actual potential if he's just going to continue on in this fashion."

"No punishment this time, Maria?" inquired Lucy.

"Afraid not, sister—he's too much of a risk."

Jasper, which also had the duty of disposing of useless newborns, came up behind the young one softly. In one swiftly harsh twist, he pulled the head and neck off its shoulders, and it slumped, twitching. He gathered the limbs, set a fire of reasonable size—to avoid detection—and tossed them professionally. Each time he had done this, he had felt envy's venomous sting at their freedom, watching their husks turn to a melted ambrosial form of what they were before, finally, shifting to fragrant ashes.

But, too, like an expert, he pushed the emotion down deep, his façade impassive as he resumed his business.

Maria was satisfied with the efforts, but there were times when the musical voice would shift to an exacerbated version of its former glory. She would hit him numerously when they lost a newborn, blaming him and vehemently reciting, "This is your fault! Why didn't you stop it? How can we ever find ways to dominate the other covens if I keep losing my newborns?"

Jasper would be silent, having been trained in the past and now to take it in a patient vigil. He did this mostly to calm her mood; he learned a good time ago that if he had reacted in defense and started raging on her, the ire of Maria would amplify and it would take a great deal of time to control the temper down to a minimum.

When Maria was finally at a sedate level, she would approach him with care and hold his face in-between hers. Crimson oculars would clash with other, and the thought of blood made him thirsty. She would give him a knowing smile, putting her forehead against his. Her expression had changed once—it had been pretentious, aloof. Gradually, it softened, seductive and coy. The feelings were lackadaisical, wrapping over his senses. She gripped the back of his head and captured his lips.

He stiffened in the sudden shock of her mouth on his. The insensateness of his self was slipping, and he shuddered at the cruelty of tender physical contact. He couldn't be sure if this was more pleasurable or worse than the punishments and rewards combined. It was a contrast of itself—it represented him, he vaguely thought, yearning and not for something real, something better than this.

She pulls back, arms round his neck. "Lo siento… Perdóname por favor…"

Like a marionette, he bobs his head, listening to how the words poured off her lips. "I forgive you, Maria."

She smiles genuinely at him for the first time since they met. The ice was gone for now, and he finds a different warmth spreading inside his living shell. He meets her lips again, reveling in the butterfly caress he gives her, which she urgently and vigorously responds to. He felt pain in the empty ribcage, withal let it run its course—it had been so long since he felt anything remotely _good_.

Theirs is a parasitic relationship; Maria uses Lucy and Nettie for convenience, which he figured out some time ago. But with him and her, it was the formerly mentioned and symbiotic. They needed each other for reasons unspoken, but they both found the words didn't matter—it was a different hunger that could only be satiated like this they decided.

For the first time in a while as well, the animal was dormant, and Jasper was allowed to feel a frozen heart ache, taking predilection in some emotion other than terror and fury. He hated it, and loved it.

()

Translations:

_Lo siento _| I'm sorry.

_Perdóname por favor_ | Forgive me please.

Crappy cliffhanger and I'm sorry. The next one, I hope, will be better. -nervous laugh-


End file.
